Disclaimer- All character are the property of J.K.R, I've just filled in a missing moment with my own plot idea. All rights for the ending Lyrics goes to Evanescence and the title of this fiction is reserved to them as well as it is the name of the song from which the lyrics have been taken.

A/N- It may be a tad bit confusing in some parts, but it was meant to be. Depending on feedback for this there may be a short story or novella that will fill in all the missing moments and go into more depth. Enjoy and tell me what you think, please.

We said goodnight, not goodbye

Pale elegant streaks formed over the paned glass, the images blurred and smeared in trails of condensation. Strands of darkened brown hair was swept from the eyes of a pale Slytherin boy, his position on the musty but comfortable window ledge gave a prime view for the coming and going of Hogwarts students. Below, through the glass, he could see the courtyard bustling with bodies off to classes, he however, did not continue on to class. He had no use of the puerile Magical Creatures class, for it was Slytherin’s duel hour with those dreadful and piteous Gryffindors. Perhaps this was why his attention was immediately caught by a lone Slytherin slipping her way back through the entrance to the courtyard.

The heavy air was littered with pale scents of aging paper and faded ink, enormous shelves confined into cases displayed an endless amount of tomes and the lanky dark-haired Slytherin bade goodbye silently to the familiar smells and sounds. The echoing of heels against stone chasing him endlessly, she was easy to spot, impeccable long black hair, deliciously malevolent saunter of the hips, he followed her until they reached the Astronomy tower wood frames. All the while she never sensed the agitated and curious air which seemed to perforate and roll off of him in waves.

The breeze, fresh and wood scented streamed in its own respectable course, deviating from the path only to weave through flapping strands of her hair, the heavy tones of rosewood perfume reached his nose.

Odd, she never struck me as particularly vain.

She never knew, could never feel the strong weight of obsidian eyes upon her crouched form, and could never hear his shallow breathing as he hid in the shadows while she scribbled nonsense upon crumpled sheets of aged parchment. The faint trace of ink bled through the air in colorless clouds. His form had long since descended back through the towers door and back down the stairwell before her lithe one unraveled its stiff muscles.

There before her, just as planned. An attempt to perhaps scare her from the tower, to prevent the unsaid; neither pair of eyes met, neither said a word, though the atmosphere immediately changed from peace to hostility. A silent battle for dominance, yet, neither backed down.

He observed her scratching along upon parchment with agile and spidery fingers once again, his eyes stealing peeks from behind a well placed novel. A distraction, that’s all she served as, or so he let on. Warm pockets of sun provided the only source of constant mood, the frail whispers of approaching cold struck fine chords into the soul. She was only a distraction.

Only my distraction.

She was there before him today, his legs had taken long strides up the tower stairwell intent on arriving ahead only to discover her already there. Long cream legs stretched languidly from beneath a thick skirt, an elegantly bound tome rested between slender fingers, her pale features obscured from his vision by said tome as she lounged atop the cold, stark, grey stones. She was the one with the book today.

Hesitantly he sat as well, opposite and far off; no better a position for watching than that of standing. Every angle of her face as sharp and imprinted in his mind, every hair as dark as the night on which she was born, and her eyes- eyes that peered over the worn smooth edge of the tome.

Is she mocking me?

Pure, ripe, and quick his anger flared, two can play that game. She was beautiful, to be truly honest with himself. But she infuriated him to no end.

He cared not how he looked as he drew a scrolled piece of parchment forward from the billowing folds of black robes, thin quill already in hand. Peeks continued, the scratch of quill, the crisp turning of endless pages, all highlighted with rich pine perfumes which arrived upon the endless wind. Late, the sun fell, and stars emerged, neither moved nor did they stretch; or cease their mockery; nor their own silent obsession.

Only my obsession.

She was crying today, hot pale pearls of reflecting light, each one tracing a new path along her chilled cheek. She had also beaten him, again. Awkward emotions resonated through the air; both wished to speak, neither dared. The feelings of worry were foreign to his simplistic views, his will to comfort, yet restraint against such a thing battled endlessly inside him.

Loud disturbances came in way of sniffles, the tears fading, her shoulders straightening. She refused to look upon his face.

Why is she hiding, what is she hiding in those tears?

He left, her tears weighing down onto his shoulders endlessly.

A distraction, that’s all, back to routine. He chided himself endlessly after each look, each peek upon her face. The sadness remained, and they were back to scratching quills and silent breezes. Despite her movements, she was as composed as ever, her eyes focused solely on the parchment and endless arcs and curves. His eyes simply glanced every now and then. She never looked, so he watched.

For a lengthy amount of time he watched, until the stars shone brightly and the flurry of hand movements had long since stopped. Somewhere below owls hooted and critters stole about. He gathered his effects and left, his eyes pulling from her sullen and angled face.

He left with his back turned. She tried not to watch.

This has to end.

Desperate and tormented with the exquisite desire to return to his distraction drew the young male from his prolonged absence. She was there as always. A surprise was how it came; she had thought he left for good. The air was heavy today, but crisp with numbing cold. She was just there in front of the doorframe, her school uniform heavy and layered, but her eyes were wide against the cold air as he burst through the stained wood door. Such a surprise that the silent passing of stares was broken by the sudden noise originating from her dropped belongings. He bent swiftly to scoop them up, allowing the viewing of a scribbled-upon parchment. To his own surprise, a profile was sketched there, his profile.

This has to end.

One misstep, and she was falling, her rush to grab back the parchment launched her in a downfall to harsh stone. But his arms were strong and warm; they latched around her and pulled up to fix her balance.

Their eyes locked now, each pair as dark as the others, he knew to let go, he knew.

I have to stop this.

His lips slipped to hers, capturing her bottom pucker of flesh between his own.

Too much, too quick, this has to end.

Beneath him lay asleep his obsession, his distraction, the one he had so easily come to love out of mockery to one another.

Bellatrix’s hand intertwined with his in her sleep, words muttered incoherently passed her lips in the Astronomy tower balcony’s silence.